


Facts of Existence

by pingnova



Series: Lost Moments [4]
Category: Welcome to Hell - All Media Types
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Delusions, Hallucinations, M/M, Psychosis, Reality, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 11:25:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10661589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pingnova/pseuds/pingnova
Summary: “People come here for a lot of reasons,” Jonathan said. “A lot of them don’t want to die, not really. Maybe they tried and failed. Most people check in here voluntarily because they’re scared they might hurt themselves or someone they love.”AU everything's the same except the humans are in a psychiatric institution. Build up to Sockathan but nothing definitive in this. Unfinished.





	Facts of Existence

**Author's Note:**

> Another unfinished thing you might as well have.

Reality is supposed to be what exists. It’s everything in the state of being real, as opposed to being an idea or a notion. People think of it as a list of facts set in stone. A wall is real because you can touch it, a cloud is real because you can see it, wind is real because you can feel it, math is real because it has a logic. These things make up Reality, the one truth we all share.

“Wake up and smell the roses!” somebody says. “It’s time to come back to Reality.”

Except, we don’t all share Reality.

Jonathan Combs had come to accept that he had his own version of reality long ago. If something was Reality because he could touch, taste, smell, see, or hear it, then why did he see what others could not? Wasn’t it real? Wasn’t it Reality?

It was real, but not Reality. It was his reality, and his alone.

What he found was that there was no Reality, just many  _ realities _ , some with similar aspects and some without. For every person there was a reality, and every reality was real to the person who lived it. 

Sometimes realities clashed and conflict arose. Nothing encapsulated this better than politics. 

“The mentally ill are a dangerous drain on society,” one person says. “We should stop funding mental health programs.”

That made perfect sense in their reality. Jonathan couldn’t blame them for that.

Mostly, he stayed out of it. He didn’t have time to be challenging anyone else’s reality. He was too busy with his own. Too busy with the sights, the sounds, the sensations of being the only one with his reality. Busy with the medications, the side effects, the progress and relapse. Busy, not physically, but mentally. Exhausted in both ways but only occupied in the mind.

What he needed was a new reality. He figured that would only come with recovery, that he’d have to pull it out of himself with heart, body, and mind. But what caused the shift was nothing internal.

It was Sock.

 

* * *

 

Sock met Jonathan as his first target. He was a newly minted demon with designs on his soul. The troubled mind, the suicide potential, the ability to see and interact with him―all of these were things Sock expected. What he didn’t expect was to find himself in a psychiatric institution, his target unfazed. The boy was skinny, sheet-white, like the sun had never touched his face, and he had slight shadows beneath his eyes. The perpetual kind that once acquired, never went away. His fingers twitched imperceptibly.

Sock followed him silently for a couple days until one day Jonathan took a seat in the rec room, met his eyes, and asked him what he wanted. Despite the twitch, he folded his hands like he was conducting serious business and waited patiently for Sock to stutter it out.

“I, uh… I’m a demon and I’m here to haunt you.”

Jonathan nodded and Sock cursed under his breath. That was terrible.

“Are you real?” Jonathan asked.

“What?” said Sock, not exactly expecting the first conversation with his target to be about the facts of existence. “I guess so.”

“You guess so.”

“I’m an incorporeal being that only you can see, so I’ll leave my realness up to you to decide.”

Jonathan cocked his head. “I’ve never had one like you before. You’re sure you’re real?”

Sock shrugged. With all the questions, he suddenly realized that maybe he shouldn’t argue with what he assumed was a long-term psychiatric patient.

“Not convincing,” said Jonathan in response to the shrug.

“If you want to know whether or not I’m real, you could ask someone.” Sock pointed out another patient, who seemed to be trying to flip themselves on the coffee table. “You could tell them there’s a demon haunting you and see what happens.”

“Nobody would believe me,” Jonathan said. “I always see things that other people don’t.”

As if to prove his point, a nurse stopped by his chair and asked him who he was talking to.

“A demon. He’s here to haunt me. His name’s Sock.”

The nurse smiled blankly and noted something on a clipboard before rushing off to prevent the patient Sock pointed out from doing handstands on the coffee table. She was met with mild success and lots of feet in her face.

“So you hallucinate,” Sock clarified.

“Sometimes. Less often, lately.”

“Wow!” Sock was genuinely impressed. “Finally I’m not the crazy one in the relationship.”

Jonathan scowled deeply and Sock didn’t get a word out of him the rest of the day.

 

* * *

 

It was nine days since Sock was assigned to Jonathan and it wasn’t going well.

He spent a couple days looking for ways for Jonathan to kill himself. There weren’t any cords on any of the electronic devices he saw, many of them looked battery operated. No headphones, earbuds, phone chargers, telephone cords… Of course there wasn’t anything like rope lying around. Heck, nobody even had shoelaces. All of the shoes were slip-ons fastened with elastic.

Overdose was out of the question. The nurses strictly monitored medication and personally handed pills to the patient when it was time to take them.

The facility was all one floor, so there was nothing high to jump off of.

Things like scissors, knives, and razors were banned.

“How are you supposed to kill yourself in this place?” Sock exclaimed. What an absolute wasteland.

“That’s the point. They don’t want people to kill themselves,” Jonathan said. “This is a suicide-free zone.”

Sock could believe that. He didn’t want to, but he could.

Of course he got the most difficult person as his first assignment.

Sock didn’t see why death was not a more popular back door among the institution’s patients. They were troubled and outcast, hurting somewhere only blades and poison could even try to reach. It worked just fine for him. The patients should try it. Jonathan especially should give it a shot.

“People come here for a lot of reasons,” Jonathan said. “A lot of them don’t want to die, not really. Maybe they tried and failed. Most people check in here voluntarily because they’re scared they might hurt themselves or someone they love.”

_ Themselves or someone they love _ .

Sock bit his lip, thinking about his double murder-suicide. He shouldn’t dwell on what a stay in a psychiatric institution might have done for him and the people he loved. That would only lead to shame and regret.

While Jonathan was asleep, he did anyway.

 

* * *

 

At night, the patients were sent to bed in one fell swoop and all of the lights dimmed, but didn’t turn off completely. Snores and mumbled words filtered through the doors as people slept. Shoes regularly clopped down the corridors as nurses made rounds to and from the nurses station. They rustled newspapers in their swivel seats and their nails clicked on the keyboard. Every once in awhile there was a sigh. Sock wasn’t sure if it was from the patients, the nurses, or the yawning empty building.

There was this feeling that the hallways were stuffed with ghosts. It was like walking through cotton. Puffs of lost life clogged up his ears and throat, making the world silent. Making him silent. 

A white light fixture flickered down the long hallway outside Jonathan’s room. Briefly, the terminus disappeared, leaving a dark hole at the end. He could almost believe this life-sucking corridor was actually a gate to Hell.

It wasn’t, though. The light stopped flickering and the pale green walls and white ceramic floors returned. The ghosts never left.

Sock found himself silent at night.

 

* * *

 

The next evening, there was an episode.

Jonathan was huddled in the corner of his bedroom, crouching over himself. He looked like a child in that moment. Sock’s stomach dropped. Something was seriously wrong.

“Jonathan.” He reached out to touch his shoulder and pulled back at the last second, reconsidering. Jonathan probably wouldn’t even let him touch him.

Jonathan looked at Sock, eyes lit with a strange light. “You’re not real.”

Sock frowned. “I thought we’d already established that I am.”

“You can’t be real,” Jonathan said. “If you’re real, maybe it’s all real.”

Sock realized the symptoms. A slight tremble traveled across Jonathan’s body and his breathing was shallow. He kept glancing away from Sock, eyes focusing elsewhere. Like there was something there. Something Sock couldn’t see.

“What do you see, Jonathan?” Sock said softly. 

Jonathan made a sound, like he was about to reply, then snapped his mouth shut. There was fear that saying it would make it real. He stared resolutely at Sock. “A tall shadow with sharp fingers. It’s just waiting for me to move.”

Despite himself, Sock glanced to where Jonathan was looking. Of course, there was nothing there. He turned back to Jonathan, not sure what to do.

“Could you,” Jonathan licked his lips nervously, eyes darting around the room. “Could you just sit with me for a bit. I don’t want to be alone.”

Sock considered. He was supposed to be making Jonathan want to kill himself. Helping him while he was vulnerable probably wouldn’t get him closer to that goal. But then again, Jonathan looked real pathetic in the moment. The shaking, the hiding, the crouching. It was unnerving because he was usually so composed. This was so un-Jonathan, he felt like he’d do anything to make him come back.

In one quick movement he seated himself to Jonathan’s right side. Jonathan didn’t move or say anything for awhile and Sock didn’t offer any words. Sock zoned out, but came back when he suddenly realized Jonathan was leaning on his shoulder, asleep.

The sensation was pleasant. Warmth and weight against his shoulder, soft breath brushing his skin. Selfishly, he didn’t move. Jonathan slept undisturbed until the morning.

 

* * *

 

Sock floated upside down around Jonathan’s head, aiming for annoyance. Jonathan just kept eating his cereal. Neither of them spoke of yesterday.

“So why are you here?” It was the sort of  _ what are you in for _ question that could make incarcerated people vulnerable.

“My mom, mostly,” he answered with his mouth full. “I had an episode and it was really rough on her. I don’t want her to worry. I’m here to get better.”

Sock frowned. Get better? That’s not the direction he wanted him to go in.

“Does your therapist tell you to say that?”

“Yeah, actually. Positive thinking and all that.”

The bothering Jonathan thing wasn’t going very well. He was just severely unimpressed with everything Sock did.

He tried giving him a bit of a shock in the bathroom. He popped through the wall with his mouth stretched wide to display his teeth, but Jonathan had just went, “Dude, I’m peeing.” And the patient a couple urinals down looked at him funny.

When lunch rolled around, Sock seated himself next to Jonathan and let out his frustrations.

“Why aren’t you spooked by anything? How can you not be freaked out by something coming out of the wall?”

Jonathan gave him a raised eyebrow. “I hallucinate, remember? I have definitely seen scarier things than you come out of the wall.”

Sock smacked his forehead as Jonathan took a bite of his sandwich. Of course, how could he have forgotten that? He was in a mental institution. How in the world was he supposed to come up with something more torturous than whatever a sick mind conjured up? 

Sock didn’t mind being a spectral being all that much. Sure, he couldn’t touch things or eat stuff or bother anyone but Jonathan. But it was otherwise pretty peaceful. The floating and spookyhole he could even call cool. But he was still Sock, nothing particularly scary to come by.

What did Jonathan’s mind conjure up anyway? Aside from shadow men.

“I’d really prefer not to talk about it.”

Jonathan had his feet up in the rec room, reading  _ The Great Gatsby _ with droopy eyes and lips pressed into a tight line. Obviously not his cup of tea. His fingers twitched as he turned the page.

Sock persisted. He was finally finding an area of discomfort. “Not even a little bit? It helps to talk about it.”

“I’ve talked about it enough with my therapist. Thanks.”

Before Sock could get too pouty at Jonathan’s successful attempts to ward off his prying, another patient approached. She had an unusual sense of fashion that Sock could get behind―a skirt poking out of a big jacket and purple striped stockings all up her legs. To his astonishment, she met his eyes, then turned to Jonathan.

“I know about Sock,” she said.

“You probably just heard me talking to him,” Jonathan challenged without looking up from his book.

“No,” she insisted with a teenage, petulant expression. “He’s wearing a purple skirt and a red scarf and he’s hovering right there.” She pointed to Sock at his right side.

Jonathan looked up to Sock. “Would she be able to see you?”

Sock shrugged. “I don’t exactly know all of the rules yet.”

“I can tell you what he just said,” she butt in. 

“ _ Okay _ ,” Jonathan relented. “I believe that you are just as crazy as me and we now share the same hallucination. Congrats. I don’t think your medication covers that.”

“It doesn’t, because he’s really right there and he’s not a hallucination. I don’t hallucinate, I see ghosts. It’s just that nobody believes me.”

“So you’re here because you’re delusional,” Jonathan guessed.

“Ugh!” She stomped her foot, clearly sick of that remark. “You’re here because you are impossible and no one can stand you.”

“He is kind of impossible,” Sock said.

“See, even the ghost agrees with me.”

“I’m not a ghost.”

She cocked her head. Than what was he?

“I’m a demon.” He hesitated, then figured as long as he was at it, he should introduce himself to the only other person who could see him. “My name is Sock.”

“Nice to meet you, Sock. I’m Lil.”

She stuck out her hand and he took it, marvelling at the first human touch he’d had since his death. Her hand was rough and dry, but warm to make up for it. Lil obviously didn’t realize the gravity of the moment and ended the handshake too quickly, turning back to Jonathan. Warmth lingered on his fingers.

Jonathan looked to Sock with pleading eyes when she began babbling at him about ghosts. Sock just smirked and kicked back in the air, floating away. Jonathan would have to deal with this one by himself. She just seemed happy to find someone who might understand what she went through. Sock figured a little conversation with someone besides the invisible demon haunting him would be good for Jonathan.

With insistence, Lil entered their lives. And truly, after all the time they spent together, it had become  _ their  _ lives.

 

* * *

 

Patients weren’t allowed cell phones, computers, or long phone conversations. Jonathan wrote letters to his family. Sock had never seen them before. Visiting hours didn’t mean anything to Jonathan, because no one ever visited him.

“She’s just busy,” he said of his mom. “It’s expensive to be here so she works hard to make sure I can stay and get better.” There was a frown on his face, like the excuses didn’t make her absence any easier. He didn’t have any other family members but her.

He churned out letter after letter and occasionally got a response. They were always short and to the point. Hello Jonathan, I hope you are doing alright. I have been fine and I worry about you every day. Eat your peas and get eight hours of sleep. The neighbors overhauled their garden and it looks much better. I wish you could see the roses. Take care. Mom.

“I just don’t want her to worry,” he said with his chin in his hands as he read his mother’s most recent generic response. 

“It looks like she does anyway,” Sock pointed out.

Jonathan nodded and pulled out a clean sheet of paper. Dear Mom… 

 

* * *

 

Even though he wasn’t under a deadline, Sock felt like he needed to try harder and faster.

He tried and tried and tried. Until one day, he didn’t. He shadowed Jonathan and was silent. Jonathan had nothing to say about that at first. But the quiet presence got to him, and he snapped.

“What do you want?”

His eyes were bright and aware, nothing like they had been that night he fell asleep on Sock. In that moment, he was deeply connected to his anger. Sock couldn’t summon more than a monosyllabic response. Though he hadn’t physically changed, Jonathan was different. Darkness dipped beneath his eyes. There was a sheen on his skin as he lightly perspired. The spoon in his hand shook imperceptibly, until he had to put it down or lose his Cheerios all over the floor. 

Jonathan didn’t deign his noise with a response. The spoon clinked into the bowl and returned to his mouth, over and over. He only watched a few Cheerios skitter across the tabletop.

“What’s wrong with you?” Sock asked before he could decide whether or not he should.

Jonathan shook his head and didn’t meet his eyes.

In the community room, Lil took one look at Jonathan and knew.

“You went off your meds?!” She whispered from her place on the couch beside him.

Jonathan pursed his lips and slid further down in his seat.

“Is that bad?” Sock said.

Lil nodded.

“Good.” But his heart wasn’t in it. 

Jonathan seemed to get worse by the hour. The usual twitches were replaced by a tremor in his arms and hands.  _ The Great Gatsby  _ fell to the ground three times before he gave up holding it. He elected to take a nap during free time.

This was a positive development, Sock decided, staring at the outside of Jonathan’s door. Inside, Jonathan’s chest rose and fell steadily, his hand twitched, and he clenched his jaw unconsciously. His health was deteriorating. Maybe that would convince him to off himself.

“No,” Jonathan said when Sock brought it up at breakfast the next day. 

A nurse came over with his usual bowl of Cheerios. Jonathan frowned at him and sat on his hands, attempting to mask the shaking. He hadn’t wanted to eat anything this morning and seemed to struggle to keep down even water. The nurse paused and tried to meet Jonathan’s eyes, but he was focused on the Cheerios. He whisked away to bother a more personable patient.

“Can you eat things?” Jonathan asked suddenly.

“Um,” said Sock, thinking of food trying to get past the gaping hole in his torso.

Jonathan sighed. “I didn’t think so.”

“Why?”

“I can’t eat. I feel sick. Was kinda hoping you could just eat it and it would disappear. If I don’t eat, they’ll notice.”

Sock glanced at where a nurse was scribbling notes on a clipboard. 

“Geeze, do these people hang off your every movement?”

“Yes,” Jonathan said gravely. 

He managed to eat most of the Cheerios that morning.

The next day didn’t go as well.

It looked like someone had drawn under Jonathan’s eyes with black marker. Even though he wasn’t asleep, he stayed in bed, staring at the wall with glassy eyes. Sock told himself that he wasn’t freaked out by his behvior, but he was way out of his depth from day one. This was completely off the deep end.

He sat on the end of Jonathan’s bed with his knees pulled up to his chest. A nurse pounded on the door and announced breakfast. Shuffling filtered under the door as dozens of feet followed the nurse. Jonathan still didn’t move.

Eventually, Jonathan sighed.

“Do you still want me to kill myself?”

“Of course.”

Jonathan rubbed his eyes. He was shaking. It took Sock a minute to realize this wasn’t the tremor, but that he was crying in total silence.

“I thought I was getting better, but I think I just got worse. I went off my meds because I don’t need them if I’m better but I do need them. I’m not better.”

Sock made to pat his foot through the covers and was surprised when it connected. Jonathan’s guard must be way down. That, or he actually wanted Sock to touch him. The first option seemed the least crazy in this situation.

Jonathan started to say something, but Sock couldn’t understand what it was. He began with one subject and ended with another, talked about his childhood and then the price of bread in the grocery store. All while tears tracked down his face, curled in the bed. He was trying to admit something. The shaking and sweating intensified, like he was pulling something from his core with all his might.

Sock met his eyes when Jonathan gasped out his name, like he had just realized the demon was still there. He pulled his hand away from Jonathan’s foot, for a moment missing the human contact, before Jonathan lunged forward and pulled him into a crushing hug. Sock might have been fine with it if Jonathan hadn’t been so obviously distressed.

He pressed against Jonathan’s arms, but couldn’t escape. Jonathan’s eyes were focused beyond Sock’s shoulder, his breath shallow and quick, body taut like a hunted rabbit. Familiar symptoms.

“Jonathan, you should call a nurse,” Sock gently urged, surreptitiously getting one arm over his head so he was half free. 

He was having an episode. Who knew what he was seeing. The tension in his arms and horror in his eyes was enough to make even Sock nervous.

“They’ll put needles in me, Sock. The nurses are working with them. A house in the suburbs means nothing… it’s teddy bears. I can’t let them get me.”

Suddenly, the knob of the door turned and a nurse poked her head in. There was a high pitched scream, which Sock would have never associated with Jonathan. The nurse winced and seemed to realize what was happening. She called down the hall for backup.

Sock managed to escape the last arm holding him down just in time to miss the brief scuffle. Jonathan was undernourished, exhausted, and aching, he didn’t stand a chance against the nurse. He was shouting unintelligible words, struggling to escape her firm grasp on both of his arms. Another nurse arrived with a small plastic tube in one hand and Jonathan pushed against the nurse restraining him to get away. It was a needle. Tranquilizers. 

Sock wrung his hands as Jonathan slumped, words dying on his lips and his head falling to the side as he lost control of his neck. It was kind of horrible.

 

* * *

 

Jonathan lay unconscious in his bed for a couple hours. It was probably the most rest he’d had all week. The doctor checked in on him twice, and the nurses once every fifteen minutes. Sock was checking on him all the time, watching for the rise and fall of his chest and watching the sun go down to track time. He sat on the edge of his bed, kicking his feet. Waiting.

He didn’t realize Jonathan was awake until he whispered something. Sock looked down to him as he struggled to speak.

“Maybe,” Jonathan said. “I can’t get better as long as you’re real.”

Sock felt a pang in his chest at those words. But Jonathan reached out a hand and grasped Sock’s fingers lightly. They were human-warm and completely dry. Sock should remind him to moisturize. 

“As long as you’re real…” Jonathan repeated. Sock could sense a question on his lips. Did he want Sock to be real or not? No one knew the answer.

He drifted off once more. Sock still held his hand.


End file.
